


Jadey

by bouncingclowns



Category: Victorious (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Character Death, Enemies to Friends, F/F, F/M, Family, Friends to Enemies, Friendship, Gen, Gun Violence, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, I'm Sorry, ITS DARK, Physical Abuse, Please Don't Hate Me, Please Don't Kill Me, This is My First Fic Ever!, Underage Drinking, Verbal Abuse, i am stupid excited!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21637585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bouncingclowns/pseuds/bouncingclowns
Summary: "Jade West’s hair was the color auburn— light and delicate, like autumnal leaves. Like her mother’s used to be. After she left, her father would knit his fingers through her curls, and look at her like he was waiting for answers to unspoken questions. He looked at her like he was looking at her mother, like he was trying to find solace in their similarities. So she dyed it black."When Jade's father snaps, it feels like the rest of the world does with him.
Relationships: Beck Oliver/Jade West, Cat Valentine/Jade West
Comments: 26
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't decided if I wanna make this a longer story, but let me know what ya'll think and maybe I willll (:

Her mother used to call her ' _Jadey_ ', but it's a name she hadn't heard since she was maybe twelve. A term of endearment at it's origins, but _oh_ how it made her skin crawl now. He started calling her that once she left, and he started drinking. It came as a jibe every time, a low wail for what was, and what would never be again. It was a reminder of the family she'd lost, and the father she had. She hated it. She hated _him_.

Jade West’s hair was the color auburn— light and delicate, like autumnal leaves. Like her mother’s used to be. After she left, her father would knit his fingers through her curls, and look at her like he was waiting for answers to unspoken questions. He looked at her like he was looking at her mother, like he was trying to find solace in their similarities. So she dyed it black.

Her friends hadn’t seen her father since her play, since before her mom packed up her 2015 Honda Accord and skipped town with some guy half her age named _Tag_. The Michael West _they_ knew was a stoic, stale statistician who hated the arts, and who didn’t understand his daughter — not that he ever tried.

Two of those things remained true.

He had been out of work for almost a year and a half. Jade picked up shifts at a local diner after school to help out. Her father would take the money, and she wouldn’t see it again. She wasn’t sure where it went, but she was almost positive at least half of it fueled his fast growing drinking habit. Jade had always feared her father, but before it had been a fear of never earning his approval. When he drank, it was different. When he drank, she feared what he was capable of. He had never hurt her physically, but on more than one occasion she had come home to verbal beatdowns, and plates being thrown inches from her body only to shatter on the wall. One time he aimed a little too close, and it earned her six stitches on her left shoulder. When Robbie had asked what happened at school the next day, all it took was her most sinister glare, and the conversation was over before it had even begun.

She hadn't intended on telling him about her mother's absence, but when he happened in on the diner she started working at well past midnight a few months ago, Jade figured she didn't have a choice. He had been understanding almost to a fault - holding her hand, expecting her to cry. In true Jade fashion, she played it off as though he was overreacting, as though he was making something out of nothing. Secretly, though, Beck knew she was grateful to have someone to talk to. 

* * *

Jade’s cousin had given her a fake I.D. for her sixteenth birthday, but she never used it. Not because she was scared of getting caught — she knew she passed as a believable twenty-one year old (she’d been hit on by enough college guys to be sure about that). She just had never been interested in drinking.

The night she and Beck broke up, Jade didn’t go home like she’d assured him she would. Instead, she just drove around for hours. She thought about her mother — thought what it must have been like to pick up and leave, to start over, to be _free_. Jade hated and envied her at the same time, and had a million questions she wished she could ask her. Questions on how to move on, how to learn to forget — topics she knew her mother was an expert on, because how else could she have just _left her here_? Her mind wandered to Beck. She knew he was over at _Tori’s,_ playing cards, and supported, and fucking … just … _“UGH!”_ Jade scoffed, gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles went white. She knew this would happen. She _knew_ that if they broke up, he would get the friends, and the sympathy, and what would she get? _Nothing_.

 _‘Maybe if you didn’t act like such a freak all the time, people would like you more…’_ her fathers words rang in her ears, _‘no one wants to be friends with a girl who looks_ _like ... that.’_

Jade felt the hair on the back of her neck rise, and her chest start to tighten. She turned the radio on full blast to drown out the sound of her own thoughts. Jade checked the dash of her car: 2:30 am. Then something else caught her eye. Gas tank low. She groaned.

It was another fifteen minutes before she finally came across a gas station on a street she had definitely never been down before. It was small and dingy, not that it mattered to Jade where she got gas. When the tank was full, she went to put her card in the chip reader, only to find the machine broken. Jade groaned again, kicking the side of her silver car hard enough to leave a black scuff where the toe of her Dr. Martens boot made contact.

The interior of the minimart stretched in front of her like a florescent funeral procession. Jade’s eyes darted between aisles of candies, chips, microwavable meals, and magazines. The back wall was covered in industrial refrigerators containing an assortment of bottled sodas, energy drinks, and, yes, alcohol. Jade fidgeted nervously with her wallet before storming to the register.

“Pump two.” She snapped, slamming the receipt on the counter.

The boy at the register didn’t look up, just snatched the receipt and punched the numbers into the register. “That’s thirty,” he drawled, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his red polyester shirt. His eyes linked with Jades, and she thought she could practically see his prepubescent brain implode on itself. “A-anything else?”

Jade rolled her eyes and the feeble attempt at flirting, and she was about to say no, when something in her faltered. “Um … actually, one sec.” She muttered, stalking off towards the refrigerators.

She stopped short when she got there, her heart stuttering for a moment. Jade had never drank before, let alone _bought_ alcohol. Her finger traced the fogged plastic of the refrigerator door, before she swinging it open. A gust of icy air hit her mouth and nose, and Jade’s shoulders tensed. She peeked back at the boy behind the counter who was watching her dreamily. _If I take too long, he’ll know something’s up_ , she thought as she scanned the contents of the fridge once more.

She had never realized there were so many types of alcohol. Her father stuck to either beer or vodka straight from the handle, but there were different colors, and brands, and flavors, and —

Jade shook her head and reached for a six pack labeled _Smirnoff Ice - Strawberry_. She recognized the name from one of the handles hidden all around her house, and she liked strawberries. Couldn’t be too bad, right?

“I.D.?” The boy swooned as she placed the cardboard box on the table.

Jade rolled her eyes again, before rummaging through her wallet for the fake Connecticut license. She found it hidden behind her Hollywood Arts I.D., and slid it across the counter. The boy let his fingers linger long enough for the two of them to make contact. Jade snatched her hand back.

“Touch me again, and I’ll turn your hand into a flower vase.” She snarled.

The boy jumped, his eyes bulging out of their sockets as he nodded fervently. They didn’t speak after that.

She found an abandoned warehouse a couple miles from the gas station, and put the car in park. It was a beautiful night, and as much as she hated that, it did give her an excuse to sit on the hood of her car. Jade twisted the cap off, flicking it a couple inches in front of her car. She examined the bottle for a moment. The contents of the glass container were sickly red, and she could only imagined tasted like cough syrup. She sniffed the top, then slowly brought the bottle to her lips and took a swig. The alcohol burned as it slid down her throat, but the strawberry flavoring masked it enough to make it bearable. Bearable enough for her to take another sip, and another, and another, and another, and …

It didn’t take long for her to empty the first bottle, and for her stomach to warm and slosh with its newfound contents. Jade reached through the car window on her passenger side and pulled out another bottle. This time, she didn’t wait before bringing the saturnine liquid to her lips and downing it. She only stopped when she ran out of breath, slamming the bottle down next to her on the car hood, and wiping the spilt dribble from her chin.

Her vision swayed slightly in front of her, but she liked it. But she didn’t like that she liked it. But she also didn’t care. Not tonight, at least. She thought about her father, and wondered how old he was the first time he drank, wondered if he had been as scared as she was, and if he had liked it too? A few more gulps and the second bottle was finished, and any coherent thought she might’ve had was consumed by an uncomfortable buzzing in her skull. Jade went to grab another bottle from her passenger seat, but her hand slipped on the corner of the hood, and she toppled to the ground instead.

Jade hissed when the palms of her hands and knees made contact with the cement, before crumpling to her side. Her limbs felt heavy, her head muddled. She did _not_ like being drunk, she decided, but there was nothing she could do to change it now. Slowly, she staggered upwards and reached through the window once more, this time succeeding in catching hold of her third bottle. She swayed as she stood, her fingers fumbling with the twist-off lid. When she finally opened the bottle and bought it to her lips once more, she heard an awful gurgling noise coming from her stomach. She ignored it, tilting the bottle back and swallowing hard.

* * *

She didn’t remember falling asleep that night, she barely remembered finishing the third bottle. Jade opened her eyes slowly, squinting hard against the early morning light. A heavy throbbing protruded just behind her eyes all the way to the base of her skull, and she could smell something foul. Jade chanced opening her eyes fully to find herself lying half next to, half on top of a pile of vomit by the side of her car. She jumped, pulling herself upwards and slamming her head on the car door.

“ _Fuck!”_ She seethed, bringing a hand to the back of her already throbbing head.

Jade pulled her knees to her chest and let her forehead rest there, trying desperately to drown out the sound of her own thoughts. Slowly, she pulled herself upwards by way of the open car window, and peeked through the door. Her phone lay haphazardly on the ground by the now more than half empty six pack from the night before. She cringed, averting her eyes back to her cellphone and pressing the home button. The fluorescent light it gave off hurt more than that of the world around her, but she forced herself to check the time. It was almost 6:30 am, and she had four missed calls from her father.

“Fuck.” She hissed again, swinging herself back out the car window and trudging to the driver’s side of the car. Her keys were still in the ignition, and she turned them, shuttering as the sound of the engine pierced through the fog in her head.

The drive home was a nightmare. Jade stopped thrice to hurl on the side of the highway. Her body felt like it had been put through a wood chipper and then glued back together. _Never again,_ she thought, gritting her teeth as she a car horn sounded one lane over.

She pulled into her driveway an hour and a half later, killing the ignition and letting her head come to rest on the steering wheel. Jade groaned for the umpteenth time that morning, gripping the wheel as she tried to make the world stop spinning. Her cousin had told regaled her with stories of drunken parties and adventures — he had never explained to her that the morning after would feel like _this_. A knock on her window pulled her out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see her father looming over her. Another groan, and she opened the door, swinging her legs onto the gravel.

“You didn’t come home.” He croaked, his hands opening and closing beside him.

Jade looked up sheepishly, pulling a few wisps of hair off her face and tucking them behind her ear. “I …”

“Didn’t come home, didn’t call, I thought you’d—“ He faltered, his face twisting into something vile. “Where were you?”

Jade lowered her gaze to her boots, digging the heels into the gravel until she hit the damp clay beneath. “Out.” She mumbled.

Michael West examined his daughter with unsteady eyes, before a flash of something bright caught his eye behind her. He whipped around, jamming the passenger door open and pulling out the practically empty six pack. Jade winced in spite of herself as he held it up triumphantly.

“You’ve been drinking.” He condemned.

Jade stood, slamming her hands on the roof of the car. “So have you.”

“Out all night drinking, you don’t call, you don’t text.” He chastised, his lips pulling into a sinister smile. “You’re seventeen years old, Jadey.”

“ _Don’t_ call me that.” Jade snapped, pushing off the car and breezing off towards the house.

Before she could open the front door of the white, Tudor style house, she felt a hand on her forearm yanking her backwards. “We’re not done. Did I _say_ we were done?” Her father fumed, pulling his daughter up against his chest.

Jade’s chest tightened when she smelt the alcohol on his breath, but she never let her face fall. She struggled against his grip, and then in a moment of sheer genius, jammed her knee between his legs. The _Smirnoff_ case fell to the ground, and so did he. Jade sprinted into the house, slamming the door behind her before sauntering up the stairs into her room and slamming that door too. She pressed her back against the door, panting lightly. _God_ all she wanted to do was lie down, but the movement had made her nauseous again and she ran to her bathroom, forgetting to lock the bedroom door behind her. She heard it fling open after a second round of bile rose in her throat.

“ _Damnit, Jadey_!” Her father’s voice boomed over the sound of her own gagging.

* * *

Tori didn't think anything of it when Jade isn't at school the next day. She thinks about when her and Daniel broke up, and how her mother had given her ice cream in bed and all but _forced_ her to stay home. 

_"Just for today."_ She'd winked, placing the heaping bowl of chocolate and whipped cream down in front of her before closing Tori's bedroom door. She'd had spent the majority of day in bed, drowning her misery in ice cream and stupid teen TV shows, and by the end she _did_ feel better.

Just as her mother had promised. 

The multi-toned bell rings, and she's pulled out of her thoughts. After grabbing the last of her textbooks and cramming them into her purple backpack, she swiveled on her heels only to land practically on top of Andre. The boy smiles cheekily, shifting his own knapsack farther onto his shoulder.

"Music theory." He offers, and Tori takes it as his way of asking where she's headed.

She smiles back at him. "Contemporary Vocal Styles!"

They part ways without another word spoken. Tori loves her Contemporary Vocal Styles class (or CVS as the students of Hollywood Arts lovingly call it), because the teacher, Mr. Kerrick, loves her, and because Beck is in it with her. She loves it even more today because Jade will _not_ be in it. If Tori were to be completely honest with herself, there's a small part of her that's relieved the two of them aren't dating anymore beyond her concerns as a mere friend. She had never understood what Beck saw in Jade. She was angry, and cruel. Jade was pretty, sure, and Tori could only assume that part of her appeal was her performance in bed, but Beck was ... well ...

He was Beck. Kind, and gentle, and fucking _beautiful_. And Tori just ... didn't ... get it. 

She sauntered into the classroom, greeting Mr. Kerrick as she did. Mr. Kerrick was a gentle, jolly man with too much energy and too many extra pounds on his body - the type of teacher whose more excited about what he's teaching than he is about his life outside of the classroom. It made for an awesome class, and an incredibly awkward professor.

Tori plopped down next to Beck in the front row, pulling out a notebook and pen and writing the date and the unit. They were working on country, and she had a song that she knew would be perfect. It was only when she smiled at Beck that she looked at him for the first time that day. Beck's hair was a mess - not his usual, "I'm too cool to care" disheveled, but matted and messy and unkempt. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and it looked like he hadn't changed since she'd seen him the night before. 

"Hey." Tori tried, keeping her tone cheery, but soft. 

"Hey." He mumbled in response, keeping his dark, brooding eyes fixed on a spot on the wall.

She swung her knees towards him. "I thought you'd be happy that ... _you know who_ isn't here today!"

Beck sighed heavily and flicked his eyes towards the all-too-perky brunette. In Tori's world, once something ended, it was over. It didn't matter anymore. It was finished, and life could move on. _The joys of being a teacher's pet_. Beck supposed, recounting the girl's immeasurable luck since transferring to Hollywood Arts.

"It's not like her to not show up to class." Beck lamented. "I think something's up.

Tori role her eyes, tossing a few pieces of hair behind her ear. "It's _one day_ , Beck. Even the police as for at least forty-eight hours before you contact them. I think she'll be fine." 

Beck wanted to retort. He wanted to make her understand that he _knew_ Jade, knew that her absence was a thousand times worse than what it meant if she had show up and flaunted and made his life miserable. But before he could say any of it, Mr. Kerrick intoned, and the lesson began.

* * *

"Well _I_ think it's a bad sign." 

"What is?" Cat said, plopping down between Beck and Robbie and across from Andre and Tori at their regular lunch table.

Robbie opened his mouth to respond, but he was cut off by Rex before he could. "Beck thinks Jade's gone loopy." He chided, much to the dismay of Robbie.

Beck rolled his eyes, jamming his fork into another piece of lettuce. "I do _not_. I'm just saying, in all the time that you guys have known her, has she _ever_ skipped school?" He defended. "It's not a good sign. I'm telling you."

Cat nodded without really knowing what she was agreeing to. "One time, my brother skipped school for a whole week because he thought that there was going to be a nuclear apocalypse if he walked outside." She chimed in airily, opening her container of noodles and tossing a few pieces around.

Her four friends stared at her for a moment before continuing on with their conversation.

"Andre, will you _please_ tell Beck that this isn't a big deal?" Tori coaxed, nudging her friend gently in the forearm with her elbow.

Andre bit his lip briefly, his eyes flicking towards Beck's grieving glare. "I don't know, Tor." He hesitated. "It's just ... we've known her a lot longer than you, and ... Beck might have a point."

" _Thank_ you!" Beck jeered, giving Tori a knowing grin.

Tori huffed before taking a bite of her burrito. "I don't know why you're even worried about her." She conceded between swallows. "She broke up with you."

There was a beat in the conversation. Robbie's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets, Andre nearly choked on his soda, Cat let out a surprised squeak. Beck smiled falsely, dropping his fork and turning his tired eyes towards Tori. He didn't respond because he knew she was right, because it wasn't his place to worry about Jade anymore. She didn't owe him anything.

Not that he needed a reminder.

"But she's still our friend." Cat asked earnestly, breaking the silence. "... isn't she?"

Robbie place his arm warmly around her shoulders. "Of _course_ she is." He said, before adding with a nervous smile, "... isn't she?"

Andre nodded firmly, Beck heaved a sigh, and Tori rolled her eyes before taking another bite of her burrito. Cat studied her friends briefly before nodding slowly and leaning into Robbie's embrace. Despite her seemingly vacant contribution to the group, she had learned that she was an incredibly good observer. She could tell when Robbie was going to ask her out. She could tell when her brother was going to have one of his fits, sometimes even before he could. Right now, there were two things that Cat was absolutely sure of:

1) They would never all hang out again

2) Something was definitely wrong with Jade

* * *

It was between fifth and sixth period when he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. Beck groaned as he pulled it out, expecting to see his suffocatingly doting mother's contact light up on his screen. Much to his surprise it wasn't her. The name on the screen made Beck's chest flutter. It was Jade.

"H-Hello?" He stuttered as he answered the phone as though all the wind had just been knocked out of him.

"Beck." Jade whimpered softly on the other end of the line, followed by a cacophony of glass breaking and incoherent shouts.

"Where are you?" He was already sprinting to the parking lot by the time he got his question out, his free hand rummaging manically for his car keys in one of his pockets.

She was crying softly on the other end, and Beck could practically feel her trying to swallow back tears. Even now, trying to appear stronger and braver than anyone expected her to be. "I'm ... I'm at home." Jade finally got out, "It's my ... my dad. He's - Oh _god_!" Another shriek, another eruption of noise and shouting, and the line went dead. 

"Jade. Jade...?" Beck stared at his phone screen for a moment in other bewilderment. He felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest. Beck shook his head. _You don't have_ time. He told himself firmly, before getting in his car and speeding out of the Hollywood Arts parking lot.

He knew the drive like the back of his hand. Jade lived a fifteen minute drive from school, but with LA traffic it could be upwards of forty minutes. Luckily for Beck, there was hardly anyone on the road at 1:30 pm on a Tuesday. Beck pressed his foot on the gas, watching the speedometer hit fifty, the seventy, then eighty, but it _still_ didn't feel fast enough. His mind reeled through the various situations he might find upon his arrival. He had only met her father a handful of times, but he knew him to be a solemn, oftentimes unnecessarily cruel man. Beck had heard him call his daughter names more than once, and he was no stranger to the bruises that had begun showing up on Jade's skin since her mother had left.

Beck heaved a sigh of relief when he finally pulled into Jade's driveway, parking haphazardly next to what she recognized to be his now ex-girlfriend's car. He felt something crunch beneath his feet when he exited his blue sedan, and looked down to see broken bottles strewn across the ground. Gingerly, he picked up a piece of the broken glass, but before he could examine what it was, there was a crash followed by a shriek from inside, and he went darting towards the porch, leaving the glass to fall forgotten into the gravel once more.

* * *

It had escalated quickly. From yelling, to being pushed against a wall, and at some point she heard him accuse her of leaving him. "Just like your bitch mom left us! You're just like her, Jadey." He had wailed, throwing books off of shelves and sobbing manically. "You're _just_ like her!" Jade had tried to promise him that she wasn't going anywhere, had begged him to calm down and just ... just _talk_ to her. To please just let her explain, but it fell on def ears.

It had escalated quickly, and then it had somehow managed to get worse.

Jade knew her father kept a gun in the house - a small revolver that he hid in a lockbox under his bed from the time she was two years old. She had only seen it a handful of times - when he was cleaning it, or when her uncle came over and wanted to shoot bottles off the back porch on Thanksgiving. One time when she was twelve they'd had an attempted burglary, and her father had come bounding into her room, shutting the door carefully, and camping out by her bed, training the gun directly at the door. She knew he knew how to use it. He had even begun to teach her before her mother left. "Just in case." He had said with a wink as she held the gun out and aimed at a target in her yard. At the time, she wrote it off as just another special skill she could put on her resume. She had wanted to have good aim on the first try. She hadn't. Her father, on the other hand, was, and it made it all the more terrifying when he pulled it out of his waistband and started waving it around, threatening to find her mother and kill her, then kill Jade, then kill himself. 

For the first time in her life, Jade thanked a god she knew she didn't believe in that he was drunk, or else his first shot wouldn't have missed, and she would not have been able to hit the first number on her speed dial list as she bolted past him. The conversation was cut short, though, when he found her hiding in the closet by their front door and threw the phone across the room - shattering the screen into a million pieces.

"Dad, p-please!" She whimpered pathetically, backing through the living room and into the kitchen. "Please just, I didn't ... I didn't do anything! I- I would never leave. I promise, I would never-!" But he wasn't listening, was hardly breathing. This wasn't her father - this was a man she did not know, and who perhaps also did not know himself.

Jade felt the cool marble of her kitchen counter against her back, and the synapse in her brain went wild. _A knife, get a fucking knife!_ It was as though he could read her mind, though, because as she started to turn on her heels to find one, he caught her by the shoulders, pressing her firmly against the counter and placed his grip around her neck. Jade brought her own hands to claw at his as she gasped for breath. Darkness closed in around her as she continued to fight for air, scratching at her fathers ands hands and forearms, silently pleading with him to _let her go_. Her father glared at her with eyes that she didn't recognize - dark, and vacant, burning with a despair she had yet to see in him.

"D- _Dad!_ " She wheezed with her last fighting breath. Her tongue began protruding from her mouth, and her arms fell back on the table, and its as though her giving up brought her father back to reality, because she felt the pressure relieve off her larynx as her father snatched his hands back, wringing his wrists.

He stared at her with disbelief and maybe even remorse as his daughter slid down the kitchen counter, coughing, and wheezing, and delicately touching her neck for injuries. "Jadey ... I ..."

For a brief moment, Jade thought that maybe it was over. Maybe he had come back to reality. Maybe, just _maybe_ , they could put this behind them and somehow try to move on and keep going. But the sound of the gravel rumbling under car tires outside made her ears prick, and apparently she wasn't alone. Michael West whipped around towards the sound, his hands coming to grip the gun on his waistband again. His body tensed as he turned back to leer at the girl who reminded him all too much of his former wife.

"Who did you call?" He asked desperately, pulling Jade off the ground roughly by her forearm. When he realized she was still too weak to fully stand, he placed an arm around her waist to support her and pushed her into the front hallway by the door. Jade felt it happen in a fog. _I called someone._ She pondered dumbly as oxygen slowly re-entered her system. _Who did I call?_

Her eyes widened when she saw the shock of brown hair come barreling through her front door. “Beck.”

Beck froze for a moment when he heard her. Jade’s voice was about three octaves higher than her usual tone. He took her in - lip cut, neck bruised, and a gash on her right cheek bone. Her father’s left hand was firmly around her stomach, and his right, _oh god._ Beck thought he was going to be sick. A revolver, small and silver, and taunting him, placed roughly against her temple.

“Don’t you hurt her.” Beck growled, his hands balling into fists. “Don’t you dare—“ he lunged, and pain exploded on the left side of Jade’s body as she was pushed to the ground. Before she could pull herself up there was a pop, and and guttural shriek, and a thud, and _god_ Jade thought she knew what it was but she didn’t want to be right.Her eyes flickered a few feet in front of her to where he lay, blood soaking his t-shirt, his eyes scrunched shut, his body coiled in on itself.

“N-no…” Jade breathed, scrambling on her knees to his side. She touched his cheek lightly, and it’s as if it’s all the permission his body needed to relax, because all of a sudden his eyelids fluttered and he went limp. “Beck!” Jade pulled him onto her knees, bringing a hand to run through his hair. The only response she got was a cough, and she watched in horror as blood dribbled from either corner of his mouth.

She snapped into action, rummaging through his pockets for a cellphone, and finally found one in his jeans. But when she pulled it out, she heard the gun cock and _oh god_. Slowly, she allowed her head to turn towards her father — pale, and sweaty, and tense, the barrel of the revolver trained directly between her eyebrows.

“You know. I can’t let you use that, Jadey.” He relented, and if she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought it was an apology. “You know I can’t let you.”

Jade watched as her father brought his finger to the trigger. Light danced across the silver mechanism, and in another life, she would have found it beautiful. She didn’t cry, didn’t fight. Just watched. Her grasp tightened around Beck’s shirt, the gun twitched in her father’s usually steady hands. Tears glistened in his bloodshot eyes, his chin trembled. But all Jade could do was watch.

“J-Jade…” Beck sputtered, pushing a little more of the blood and saliva mixture over his lower lip. “Run.” His eyes fought to focus on her, his breath shallow, but there was fervency behind his words. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an _order_.

Jade shook her head, moaning lowly before burying her face in his neck. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry, Beck. I’m sorry, I’m—!” It came as a long, babbled string of apologies between sobs and sharp inhales. Beck wasn’t sure he had ever seen her cry before, and with the little strength he had left, he silently thanked whatever powers that be for that, because he wasn’t sure he could handle seeing it more than once. Jade shook violently as she continued to hold him, continued to press herself as close to him as she possibly could.

Beck brought a bloodstained finger up to her cheek and traced it lightly, and she looked at him. He chanced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I never s-stopped ….” But a fit of coughs overtook his thought, followed by an awful gurgling sound, and then ….

Jade shook him gently, whispered his name, ran her fingers through his hair, because he couldn’t … he … he just couldn’t … !

“How could you … how …” Jade griped for the right words, tears streaming freely down her cheeks as she whipped her head to meet her father’s shock-stricken gaze. “ _He didn’t do anything! He didn’t—_ “ she choked, pulling Beck closer and bawling and apologizing to him all over again.

Her father lowered the gun, his eyes bulging manically, his lips twitching at the corners like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile or snarl or both. “I didn’t … he … he shouldn’t have come. It wasn’t my …” He brought his free hand and pushed the sweat drenched hair on his forehead back. Then something snapped in him, something dark and sinister. Something he hadn’t wanted to admit to himself.

“Don’t look, Jadey.” He murmured, turning his back to her.

But Jade was never known for doing what she was told, was she?

It happened fast, but not fast enough. She had only just turned back to him when the back of his skull spattered, and he crumpled on the hardwood floor with a smack. Jade shrieked and her eyes squeezed shut instinctively when she heard the _bang_ of the bullet leaving the gun. Some dark, morbid part of her marveled at how such a small machine could make such a loud noise, but that was before she had fully registered what her father had just done. Slowly, she opened her eyes and flicked them from her father’s now grotesque form, to Beck in her arms. Sweet Beck, his eyes glaring at her unseeing, his lips opened slightly. She couldn’t cry anymore. She could barely feel anything at all. She just knelt there, Beck’s dead weight against her knees. Sickly, deafening silence permeated the her house. It swallowed her whole, voided her of all thoughts and emotions.

She wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that — long enough for her knees to start to ache and the sun to settle into a soft evening glow against the walls of her house. Long enough for Beck to grow cold. She didn’t think about time, not until she heard sirens outside, followed by the crackling of her front door being broken down. A team of police officers lead by — _who the fuck else_ — none other than Officer David Vega appeared in her doorway, guns pointed in every which way. Tori’s father had been on a thousand crime scenes — some gorier than this, but none where he had _known_ the victims. Jade stayed at the center of the room, still as the house around her. She seemed not to notice the commotion beginning until he placed a hand on her shoulder. Jade flinched slightly at the contact, but otherwise remained stagnant.

She didn’t need to look at him to know that he was watching her with the same kind brown eyes that Tori studied her with — the same pitiful expression that Tori had given Jade that day after her and Beck had broken up. She knew it was there, and it made her sick. She vaguely heard him offer to help her up, but it only made her grip on Beck’s shirt tighten.

“Jade,” Officer Vega coaxed gently, “we have to get his …” he shook his head, “you’ve sustained injuries. We need to get you to a hospital, make sure you’re ok.”

The dark haired girl grit her teeth ruefully, keeping her eyes trained on the same spot on the wall, “I’m fine.” She said dully, continuing to cradle the lifeless boy in her arms.

Officer Vega sighed and knelt next to her, removing his police hat. “Jade. I am … so sorry.” He tried, only succeeding to make the muscles in her jaw clench harder. “But … you can’t stay here. We have to get you someplace — somewhere else.”

Rage flashed behind her blue green eyes, but it only lingered a moment before it was replaced with pain, and then nothing, vacancy, resignation. Jade exhaled heavily before looking down at Beck - the boy she loved. The boy she would _always_ love. She leaned down and kissed his forehead, murmuring something that Officer Vega couldn’t hear — that wasn’t _for_ him to hear. Her eyes met his — steady and turbulent and so full of fear all at the same time.

“What do I do now?” She asked with such honesty and sorrow that the officer hardly recognized the determined girl he’d met on his living room couch not two years prior.

Officer Vega pursed his lips, then shook his head as though deciding against whatever half-hearted positive notion he was about to share. He stood slowly, reaching a calloused hand out towards the teenager. Jade looked up at his hand, then back at Beck. She laid he head delicately against the linoleum floor, and then, much to Officer Vega’s surprise, took his outstretched hand. She stood with some difficulty, for her knees were stiff from hours of kneeling with the pressure of his body against her. It wasn’t until she was upright that she realized her lower half was soaked in a sticky, metallic substance. Jade wiped a line of the liquid off her thigh. Blood. Not just any blood.

Beck’s blood.

Officer Vega watched her go pale, then green, and then sprint to the door. He cringed as he listened to her retch over the balcony of her front porch, then followed her and placed a hand lightly on her back. When she finished, she pulled herself back upright, breathing heavily as she wiped the last of her sick from the corner of her mouth. The officer rummaged in his pockets for a napkin or a tissue — anything he could give her to help, but to no avail. They stood there for a moment, her leaning against the porch while she tried to stop her body from shaking, him watching steadfastly.

“Feel better?” He offered, hating himself almost immediately for asking something so … so _stupid_. Jade just looked at him, her face contorted with a mixture of nausea and grief, before breezing past him in the direction of the ambulance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for your kind words! I've decided to make this a larger fic (-:  
> Also, I just made a Tumblr, if you'd like to follow me!! bouncingclowns.tumblr.com! xoxo

Jade’s first trip to the hospital was when she was thirteen. She had fallen off her bike while chasing a group of boys who had called her ugly down her block. There was an awful popping noise, and then her right collar bone exploded with pain. Her mother saw through her icy exterior, promising her that the x-ray machine was nothing to worry about, and kissing her forehead. Jade felt warmth spread through her chest at the contact, and the rest of her visit went smoothly.

They had forced her into a wheelchair despite her abhorrent protest of being rolled around like a fucking nut job, but her dissent overruled by a slender, redheaded nurse who introduced herself as Fawn, or Flora, or some other god awful F-name that Jade hadn’t bothered remembering. She had put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. Jade felt no warmth. The nurse brought her into a private room, and left her to change into an open-backed robe with pale blue checks on it. Not twenty seconds after she’d feebly pulled herself back onto the examination table, there was a knock on the door, and the redhead nurse re-entered, followed by a slender man with a camera and a - _awe fuck not again_ \- Officer Vega.

Great.

“Jade, this is Mr. Harris, and I believe you already know Officer Vega?” The redhead smiled, and Jade decided then that she certainly didn’t like her. “Mr. Harris is one of our forensic photographers. He was hoping to take some pictures while I examined you, how does that sound?”

“Pictures?” Jade puzzled, quirking an eyebrow upwards and folding her arms protectively across her chest.

The redhead nurse smiled again, only furthering her discomfort. “In case there is a criminal investigation into …” Nurse stupid-name trailed off, but Jade understood.

“Oh,” Jade stated gloomily, upon realizing that the question wasn’t really a question, but a statement in disguise, “ok.”

The nurse nodded at Mr. Harris, who came and stood directly in front of her. Jade studied the man bleakly as he fidgeted with the settings on his Nikon. He was thin to the point of looking somewhat gaunt, with a long nose and greasy brown hair. His fingers moved around the multi-faceted DSLR camera nimbly, pressing buttons several times in a row as he figured out what he wanted.

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions while we … while this is … while you’re being examined?” Jade flicked her eyes upwards to Officer Vega, who was fidgeting nervously with a pad and pen.

 _The LAPD’s finest_. Jade thought haughtily, glaring at the visibly uncomfortable man. She nodded nonetheless — once more recognizing that she didn’t have a choice in the matter. It was in that moment that Jade realized that she didn’t have _anything_ anymore. No mother, no father …

“No Beck.”

“What’s that, dear?” The nurse asked.

Jade inhaled her blue-green eyes fixing on a spot on the wall. “Nothing.” She murmured, then lying back on the examination table added, “Let’s just … get this over with.”

* * *

When Beck didn’t show up to Sikowitz’s class, then Tori finally felt a pang of anxiety rise in her chest. It was the seventh period — the last class of the day, and certainly Beck’s favorite. Tori glanced around the room, catching eyes with Cat, who looked equally as worried as she did. She shrugged, exhaling heavily, and turning her gaze back to Sikowitz, who seemed unfazed by the absence of two of his star pupils.

Class drawled on in something of a nervous buzz for Cat. _Something's wrong, something is WRONG!_ Her brain screamed as she chewed on her hair, brows furrowed into a pout. First Jade, now Beck, and ...

She shot her hand up before she could even fully realize what she was doing. "Sikowitz can I go to the bathroom _please_!" Cat whined.

The rest of the class whipped around to look at her, her eyes squeezed shut, her hand still stuck in the air. Sikowitz stuttered for a moment, but Cat didn't wait for him to respond before slinging her bag over her shoulder and sprinting out the door.

"Why must girls always bring their bags to the bathroom?" Sikowitz asked perplexedly, before clapping his hands and ordering the remainder of the class to act like zoo animals.

The walk from the classroom to the girl's bathroom felt a million miles long. With every step she took, the click of her heeled boots mocked her. _Not good, not good, not good_ they chanted. Tears welled in her brown eyes, blurring her vision. Cat wiped her forearm across her face in an attempt to relieve her already bleary vision, before rounding the corner and shoving the bathroom door open. Once inside, Cat pressed her back to the stall and rummaged for her cellphone, finding it at the very bottom of her massively untidy backpack. She clicked the home button, unlocking the screen and went to her contacts. The phone rang four times before a voice on the other end told her that her call had been forwarded to voicemail.

"Jade..." Cat breathed, closing the dial pad and reverting to text.

> _Jade, its your bff Cat. PLEASE pick up!_

> _I'm really worried about you!!_

> _Please please please please please please please_

She tried Beck next, calling him twice, but to no avail.

Cat sunk the floor, her phone dropping next to her in a mess of heavy breathing and tears, because she knew, she just _knew_ that something wasn't right, that something awful was going to ...! Cat could feel the walls closing in on her. She knew what panic attacks felt like, she'd had them before, and she knew how to stop them but oh _god_ this was different, because this was -

" _Jade!_ " She whimpered, pulling her knees into her chest and trying to desperately to level her breathing.

She counted back from ten, then named five different things she saw in the bathroom, then breathed the way she did when she was about to sing. That one always worked, and this time was no different, because her chest started to settle and the ringing in her ears dissipated. Cat's shoulders relaxed slightly as she felt herself come back to reality. The bathroom stall stopped closing in on her, the air no longer burned her lungs, her skin didn't feel three sizes too small. She wiped away the last of her tears, sniffling softly as she pulled herself off the cold tile floor, being sure to pick her phone up as she went.

The jolt of movement made her phone light up, and much to her surprise, there was a missed call. Not just any missed call. It was from Beck. Cat’s heart rate quickened all over again as she swiped to return her friend’s missed call. She started talking the moment she heard the dial ring stop, not waiting for him to even say so much as a “hello”.

“God, Beck! Why didn’t you pick up? I was was worried about you! I thought something had happened, you got me scared during lunch and then you were just gone, you were just … _gone_ , and I thought that maybe there really was something wrong and that I really needed to be worried! When my brother runs away I always think that maybe he won’t come back, maybe this is really it, and I thought you might’ve run away, and —!”

“Miss Valentine.” Cat’s heart sunk when she heard the voice on the other end cut off her babbling.

“Y-you’re not … who is this?”

A pause that felt like a millennia, but couldn’t have been longer than a few seconds. A million things flashed through Cat’s already hyperactive mind, as she thought of every awful situation that could’ve led a stranger to have Beck’s phone. He was being held hostage, or it had been stollen, or he was being held hostage _and_ it had been stollen.

“Miss Valentine, my name is Detective Morales. I’m … I'm afraid I have some bad news.”

* * *

It was too much stimulation. Nurse terrible-name prodded, as Officer Vega asked questions, as the light from the camera’s flash diffused in her eyes. It was too much. Too soon. _God_ she was tired. She hadn’t realized how tired she was until the questions had started and she was forced to remember events from only an hour or two prior through the haze that trauma had created against her brain.

Jade didn’t want to cry. As a matter of fact, she promised herself that she wouldn’t, and up until Beck’s appraisal in her recount of what happened, she had been successful. She tried avoiding him with the same tactics she used avoid everything — with sarcasm, and insults in a desperate attempt to throw him off. To make this all just fucking _stop_. Officer Vega just looked at her with sad, sympathetic eyes, and she eventually conceded. She swallowed hard as she explained how she’d called him from a closet, how he’d practically broken down her front door to get in, how she didn’t _see_ him get shot, but she’d never forget the sound the bullet made when it pierced his skin, or watching the light flicker and diffuse from behind his eyes. She cried then, remembering how he’d tried to speak over the blood gurgling in his mouth, how he had _begged_ her to run, and how she so desperately wished that she had — wished she had started running and never stopped.

“ _You’re just like her, Jadey. You’re just like her._ ”

“And your father, was he prone to this type of … behavior?” Officer Vega asked, shifting awkwardly as her nurse moved in front of him to the right side of Jade’s body to tend to the cut on her cheekbone, and Mr. Harris slinked behind her, the flash from his camera practically blinding the poor teenager.

She quirked an eyebrow upward, wiping a stray tear off her cheek. “You mean killing himself? Killing …” Jade swallowed as her perfectly awful response got lodged in the back of her throat. “No. After my mom left he was … he had his own demons, but … I never thought he was capable of …” She trailed off, not that there was any confusion on what she was indicating.

She had come out miraculously unscathed — her all-too perky nurse had gone as far as to tell her so before she left to attend to other patients. Three stitches for the gash on her cheek, some scrapes, a severely bruised larynx (which she was assured would hurt like hell as it healed), but other than that … “ok.”

Jade screamed internally when she heard the word used in reference to her. _Ok…?_ She wasn’t sure she knew the meaning anymore. Officer Vega and his photography minion left once they felt that they had gotten everything they needed from her, and Jade found herself alone in the hospital room with only the sound of her heart monitor to keep her company. She was assured that there would be a policeman stationed outside her door should she need anything or think of anything else that might be pertinent to the case. Jade smiled tightly, considering to herself that her wellbeing was more than likely the last of anyone’s concerns. She was the only surviving witness to a murder-suicide. Her value lay in her capacity to remember. Jade grit her teeth, wishing desperately that she could throw that goddamned heart monitor across the room so it would stop beeping.

She had hated the questions, and the exam, but she thinks she might hate being in here alone more. The fluorescent light hurt her eyes, and _damnit_ , she was so tired but adrenaline still pumped through her system, not that it mattered, because every time she closed her eyes she saw ...

_"Jade. Run."_

_"I never stopped ..."_

_Never stopped what, Beck? Loving me? Caring?_ She shook her head, tears prickling in the corners of her eyes as she desperately tried to blink them away. Even alone, she couldn't let herself crumble. _No. He didn't come to the door. I counted to ten and he didn't ... he just ... he stayed, and he didn't care._

_It's easier if he didn't care._

* * *

She came back to the classroom in a whirlwind of red hair and tears. It took Sikowitz ten minutes to get her to calm down enough to tell him what had happened, and even then, she could hardly get the words out.

"B-Beck ... !" She shrieked, her face burrowing into the professor's arms like she was trying to crawl through his skin.

The rest of the class watched in horror, unsure whether to leave or stay. A few stragglers stood awkwardly and left, but almost everyone stayed - a morbid curiosity taking them over. Sikowitz continued to soothe the girl in his arms, bewilderment flaring behind his eyes. When he had signed up to be a high school acting teacher ten years prior, this is _not_ something he'd thought would be in the job description. His eyes flicked to Robbie as though he were expecting the teenage boy to know what to do. Robbie's lips pursed like he was going to say something, but he couldn't make a sound. It felt like there was an anvil against his vocal cords.

"Cat, please," Sikowitz tried, placing his hands on either of her shoulders and crouching to eye level, "what's _wrong_?"

Cat took in a shuddered breath, wiping her tears with the sleeves of her fluorescent pink sweater. "He's ... he ... _please don't make me say it!_ " She wailed, balling her hands into fists and putting them in front of her eyes.

Something in Sikowitz's chest burned like it was about to rip open, and before he could censor himself, "Damnit, Cat, I can't help you if you don't talk to me!" He roared.

None of them had ever heard him yell before. I mean, they'd heard him _yell_ , but ... not like this. Never like this. The redhead jolted, but it seemed to get through to her, because for at least a moment she stopped crying. Her eyes went wide as tears continued to spill down her flushed cheeks, and then she said it. A single word, ringing out in the deafeningly silently, painfully terrified room.

"Dead."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys SO much for all your kind words about this story! I am having so much fun writing it. Or at least ... my own morbid version of fun hehe this is fucking sad, but the fact that you guys like it and continue to read/comment makes me heart soar!
> 
> Tumblr: bouncingclowns.tumblr.com

His father had swerved into oncoming traffic, directly into a lorry truck on Thanksgiving. It sent their red civic soaring through the air like the paper airplanes he used to love making. His parents were killed on impact. He still doesn’t remember anything from the time the headlights of the truck forced his eight year old eyes shut, to when he woke up three days later in a children’s hospital with his grandmother’s hands tightly around one of his. Andre knew loss, but this … this was different. He didn’t remember his parent’s deaths. But Beck’s? He felt every moment after Cat had uttered the single syllable word.

 _“Dead_.”

The classroom had broken into the most horrific uproar of grief. Sikowitz stayed, his hands clenched on Cat’s shoulders, in the center of the room. Robbie let Rex fall to the ground beside him as he pulled his knees up onto his chair and curled in on himself. Tori, who had been seated right next to Andre, buried her face in his shoulder as her hands balled fists into his blue cotton t-shirt. Andre wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to _throw something_ , but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything but stare dumbly at the pandemonium that exploded around him. He felt like the eye of the storm — the calm that came at the barrier of the most awful fallout.

There were others — students who knew Beck by association, but weren’t close enough to consider him a friend, and they were perhaps the loudest. Sobs from people who knew him well enough to smile but not say hello in the hallway, wails from those who yearned for his attention but never asserted themselves enough to get it … it made Andre sick. It made him fucking _angry_. Andre grit his teeth, shaking Tori’s weight off of him and ignoring the wet spot she’d created on his chest.

“Cat,” His voice barely reached a whisper, “what about Jade?”

Cat peeked her eyes out from behind her hands, her red hair remaining plastered to her sweat drenched forehead. “I … don’t know.” She admitted.

Andre’s stomach lurched, but before he could ask anything else, someone came bolting through the door. Lane panted as he all but broke down the door.

“It’s all over the news.” His breath hitched in he throat when he saw the state the acting cohort was already in.

Andre’s eyes locked with the guidance councilor. “ _What about Jade_?” He grit his teeth. Andre didn’t know why he was angry, but it was the only thing he could bring himself to feel.

Lane took a deep breath, trying desperately to sooth the burning in his lungs that accompanied sprinting up to flights of stairs and through a cluttered high school hallway. “Hospital.” He managed, placing his hands on his knees and doubling over.

He would wonder later why he didn’t take his entire backpack with him, why he only grabbed his wallet and the lanyard holding his keys from below his chair before sprinting out the door and into his car. He _would_ wonder.

But not right now.

* * *

She thought she knew what she would dream about, but when her eyes finally closed, it wasn’t Beck she saw. It was _him_.

_“Jadey.” It came as a low, drunken drawl. “Jade!”_

_Jade groaned from her bedroom, slamming her computer screen shut before clunking to the top of the stairs._

_“Yeah, what.” She yelled, tapping the banister with her index finger._

_“C’mere.” Her father mumbled, lower and more leveled, and that somehow made it worse._

_Jade felt her heart flutter as she descended the stairs. He was sitting in the living room, his hand strangling the neck of a half empty bottle of vodka. Jade stood in front of him, pushing her weight onto one leg and crossing her arms before giving him her iciest glare. Her father studied her, dropping the bottle on the ground beside him. Jade watched as the clear liquid dribbled onto the carpet, leaving a damp pool and a stench that she could only attribute to rubbing alcohol. He stood with some difficulty, using the lazy boy chair to balance his gate, before taking a few awkward steps towards her. Jade took a step backwards before she could realize what she was doing._

_This was new._

_Jade’s blue green eyes came from her mother, along with a myriad of other physical features. Michael West’s eyes were the color of caramel, and they always gave away what he was truly feeling. Tonight, Jade saw despair — pure and lethal. He reached out, placing his fingers delicately through her curls. Jade scrunched her face and tried to pull away, but he only gripped harder. She stopped when she felt a few pieces pull away from her skull._

_“Dad…” Jade chanced, glancing up at her father’s excruciatingly trained gaze, “what’s going on?”_

_Only then did he snatch his hand back like the questioned burned. He staggered backwards, tripping over the legs of the coffee table and landing with a thud. Jade stayed where she was, watching with a mixture of anxiety and utter horror (which she of course tried to mask). She had never seen her father like … this. He let out a humorless laugh, staying where he was on the ground. Jade stood stiffly, her question still lingering in the air._

_“Mom’s gone.” He laughed again, this time like he actually found it funny. “She left.”_

_"W-what do you …” Jade shook her head, her brow furrowing. “She’s gone?”_

_Her father nodded, biting down on his bottom lip so hard, he was surprised it didn’t draw blood. Jade shoved her hands in her jean pockets to keep herself from throwing something. She blinked heavily as tears teetered dangerously at the brink of her lash line. This couldn’t be happening. She wouldn’t just leave her here, she wouldn’t, she …_

_“Why?”_

_“See for yourself.” Her father’s lips trailed into a smirk, as he tossed what Jade first perceived to be a crumpled piece of paper a couple inches in front of him._

_She approached the paper like it might explode — slowly, shuffling her feet, and studying it carefully. Her fingers traced the edge of what she soon realized wasn’t a mere piece of paper, but an envelope. It was her mother’s handwriting. It had her name on it. Jade’s eyes flicked between the envelope and her father. She turned it over to find the back already ripped open. Her cheeks went hot._

_“You already read it?” She seethed, clutching it to her chest._

_He shrugged, laying down fully on the floor, but didn’t respond. “Jus’ read it.” He drawled. “You reading yet, Jadey?” Her father’s gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling. “You should read it.”_

_Jade pulled the letter out, and her heart sunk. It wasn’t even handwritten - it was typed and signed at the bottom like a goddamn legal notice. The first few words proved more than she could bare, but when she looked up to seek the comfort of her father, he had passed out._

She woke before her brain could take her any further into the memory. Jade’s gasped, a blanket of sweat plastering her hair to the back of her neck. Her heart monitor was going at twice the rate as before. She took a deep breath, trembling, and pressing her palms to her sleep swollen eyes as the residual of the dream shook out of her system. She found she was having trouble deciphering what was real from what was a dream. No … not a dream, a nightmare. This all _had_ to be a nightmare — a hungover nightmare, what she gets for drinking underage. It wasn’t until her eyes adjusted to the fluorescent hospital light, and she saw the I.V. still in her arm, and heard the _beep, beep, beep_ of the heart monitor coming back to neutral again that she not only remembered, understood. This was a nightmare, but it was also real.

So, painfully real.

“You’re awake.”Jade flinched, her eyes snapping to the voice.

He was slumped in a chair in the corner of the room, his hands strangling the armrest on either side of him, his eyes dark, and brooding, and _god_ it made her want to throw up. Andre stood, slowly making his way over to her bed. If he were honest with himself, he still wasn’t convinced that she wouldn’t crumble into dust if he moved too quickly. Andre’s usual swagger was gone — absent with the loss of the glint behind his eyes, and the dimple of his smile. He shuffled like the movement hurt, stiff and staggered, and all Jade could think was that it was _all her fault_. She looked away, biting the inside of her cheek.

Andre hesitated, before sitting at the very edge of her bed. “How’re you feeling?” He chanced delicately, his eyes boring holes into the profile of her face.

“Fine.” Jade’s glare pierced a first aide kit on the wall.

His brow furrowed, a pang of disappointment settling in his stomach, but he tried not to let it show.

Not that she was looking at him.

He didn’t respond, because he couldn’t imagine. He had come because he thought he could, but upon realizing that he didn’t really remember loosing his parents, he felt a little foolish. He knew what it was to grow up without a parent — two, as a matter of fact. Jade had no clue, and that … _Jesus_ that made it worse.

“W-where’s your mom?” He asked lightly, glancing around the room. He hadn’t heard anything about her in the radio cast that he’d listened to on his way over.

Jade’s back tensed. _Shit._ She hadn’t told him. She hadn’t told anyone but …

_“Jade. Run.”_

She started to shake her head, but caught herself in time to disguise it as her whipping her head around to meet his gaze. Her cheeks were burning. It caught Andre off guard. Could she be … ?

“Why are you here?” She flipped the question before he could finish the thought.

Yes. She was.

Andre shot off the corner of her bed like it bit him in the ass. “Damn, Jade.” His voice was bruised. “I was just worried about you … we all are.”

He thought it might soften her, might pull her back into reality. If anything, it pissed her off more. Andre had seen Jade angry before, but only a handful of times. Not angry for show, or for fear factor, but truly, _genuinely_ angry. The first was when she had found out Beck was Canadian, and the last was the night they broke up. His heart broke a little more — a little further than the last time he said it had reached maximum breakage.

“That sounds like a _stupid fucking reason,_ ” Jade fumed, “I didn’t ask you to come.”

This time he bristled back. “I can’t believe you’re angry right now. If anything, _I_ should be mad at —“

She went off on him before he could finish. He had hoped that his being here would do for her what his grandmother’s presence had done for him, that having someone she knew would be a comfort — but not quite. Her speech came as a low, babbling string of insults and expletives (which, if he were to be honest, definitely stung), and ended with a firm _“leave!”_

She looked like she was about to explode again, but as she started the first word, her voice cracked dangerously and she wheezed, placing a hand lightly on the deep purple bruises across her larynx. Jade coughed, doubling over at the waist as she tried leveling her breathing. He watched on as she stayed doubled over at the waist even once the choking sound subsided. He soon realized it was because she was …

Wait, _she can’t be._ Andre’s eyes widened, his breath hitching in his throat. Because she was. She was crying. Silently, of course — this was still Jade, after all. Her hair had fallen bleakly across her cheek, and her hands pressed into a hug across her shoulders. He didn’t know what to do, whether to advance or recede, so he just stayed still. It didn’t last particularly long — a few minutes at most, and it had been mostly mute, save for the occasional sharp inhale of breath. He shook his head … breath wasn’t the right word. It was more of a shudder.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered after a moment, still doubled over, and largely hidden behind her tired curls. “This is …” She laid back in bed, hitting her pillow with a huff. She didn’t try and wipe away her tears — her makeup was long gone anyway, and she just … didn’t care anymore.

“A lot?” He offered deftly, a smile tugging a little at the corners of his mouth. Much to his surprise, Jade smiled too. Or at least tried to … it looked more like a grimace of pain than pleasure. Not that he could blame her.

“A lot.” She repeated, her voice low raspy with an amalgam of sleep, and grief, and what Andre could only assume was a great deal of discomfort judging by the crimson purple that lined her neck.

She flicked her eyes to him, and he shifted uncomfortably when he saw the glimmer of unshed tears in the whites of them. Anger was one thing — that was commonplace and bearable. Jade sad was excruciating an a whole different way. It came as an unwelcome reminder to both of them regarding their circumstances. Whatever marginal smile either of them held fell, and the room went from quiet to stagnant.

He still didn’t feel right sitting on the edge of her bed, so he opted to drag his chair next to her. The silence had settled in with something of a gloom, and it suffocated Andre. He pulled at the rim of his t-shirt.

“It’s nice they’ve got you in a private room.” He murmured, his eyes flicking to the far corners of the space. Jade stayed still, her gaze settled on the palms of her hands, so he continued. “When I got the flu a last year I had like three roommates.”

“Andre, _why are you here?_ ” She asked again, the malice the question held previously replaced with a desperate yearning.

“Because.” Andre’s brow furrowed. “You’re my friend. And … I’m worried about you.”

“I wish you would just ask.” Her nostrils flared a little, and she shook her head. He stared at her, his lips pursing, but she knew what he was going to say. She cut him off before he could. “You want to know what happened.”

“W-what?”

Jade just shrugged, “It’s not like I can blame you, but …”

She trailed off, heaving a sigh and blinking heavily as tears prickled at her lash line again. Andre’s cheeks went hot, because he hadn’t _realized_ that’s why he was here but … yeah. Yes. She was right. He wanted to know what happened — wanted every detail, every event leading up to what put her in that hospital bed, and to what put Beck …

But that wasn’t fair. He knew it wasn’t, and he felt so _fucking guilty_ for even subconsciously thinking it, and so instead of confirming her suspicions, he said:

“No, I know. I’m sorry.” It came as a confession more than an apology, which only made him feel worse that it was all he could muster.

“Andre,” She sighed, her face twisting with anguish, “I … I’m glad you’re here.”

He hated the way her voice wavered, and the last word dropped off into a strangled choke. It made her sound uncertain, that was so very unlike Jade. He never thought he would miss her morbidity, but here he was — desperate for things to just … go back to normal. He nodded slowly at her admonishment, leaning forward so that his forearms were rested against his thighs.

“I’m glad you’re here too.” He smiled sheepishly, pitifully.

It hit her like a pile of bricks, because he was right. She shouldn’t be here, and she very nearly wasn’t. Bile rose in her throat. If it weren’t for … _Beck_ … if it weren’t for him, she would be dead right now. If Jade were being honest, she wished she were, wished more than anything that they could trade places, because he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t _do_ anything, he …

_“He didn’t do anything!”_

Andre wondered what she was thinking, but he couldn’t imagine it was good. Her eyes were fixed on him, but they were dull and unseeing — as though it took all her energy to even have them open in the first place. Every feature on her face was pulled into a sullen frown, and it made her look younger than she was. Andre realized that the bruises around her throat didn’t help, nor did the stitches in her cheek, or the gash above her eyebrow where her piercing used to be, or … He averted his eyes before he could find anything else, reverting them back to his clasped hands.

“She left.” Jade said after a beat.

“Who did?” He called, thinking that he wouldn’t really care what the answer was.

“My mom.” Oh. _Oh._ “She skipped town a couple months ago. Haven’t seen her since.”

Andre couldn’t respond, could barely do anything but stare at her in a mixture of disbelief, and _there’s that pity again_ , Jade thought, gritting her teeth and trying to ignore the way it made her skin crawl.

“My dad kinda lost if after that — started drinking, and he couldn’t hold down a job. He just … he lost it, and …” She sucked in a breath, letting it release with a shudder.

He waited for her to continue. She didn’t, but he understood. “And here you are.”

Jade nodded again, her scowl never leaving her. “Here I am.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took me so long to post a new chapter! I've been busy with school, and also I accidentally deleted a chapter and got stressed trying to restart. 
> 
> ALSO I'm looking for a beta reader cause I'm dyslexic, dysgraphic, and ADD and it makes editing really REALLY hard. let me know if you're interested!
> 
> I take one shot requisitions!!! my Tumblr is liz-egan-gillies.tumblr.com

They would keep her in the hospital for the sake of sparing her from spending time in a foster home. Officer Vega would visit her throughout the week, asking her questions about the case, about any other family she had in the area, about her mother. Jade would answer truthfully, if not bristling a little at the intrusion into her personal life, by telling the policeman that her _no_ , she had no clue where her mother was, and promising that save for the painfully impersonal letter she had received by virtue of her father, she had no clue where the woman was.

She learned the fundamentals of Meisner technique as a sophomore at Hollywood Arts. Sikowitz would explain it as living truthfully under imaginary circumstances, and allowing one’s self to breath into the honest response that comes from being “pinched”. If she doesn’t make it as an actor or a director, she thinks she might like to run her own studio based in Meisner, but that aspiration feels more like a bedtime story than a tangible goal now. It’s her favorite house of technique, because it doesn’t require emotional manipulation — just the capacity to listen and react.

When Officer Vega works up the courage to ask her if he can see the letter, her initial response to to find something to throw at him. Upon realizing that the only thing within her reach is a plastic cup, she opts for insults. Jade screams like her throat isn’t bruised — disparaging him, his character, his daughter … anything she can think of that will leave a proverbial mark. Her arsenal of insults has only grown during her stint at the hospital. How else was she supposed to fill the copious amounts of free time? She learns that being left to her thoughts was more than she can bare, for it only affords her the opportunity to remember — remember the life she had before _this_ … _all of this_.

Jade learns her triggers. It happens fast and against her own volition.There’s a small TV in her room that hangs on the wall opposite her bed. She would watch _Bravo_ and _The Food Chanel_ until her brain was practically numbed by Rachel Ray’s voice. One day flipping through channels when she finds herself faltering on CNN and sees … _wait_ …

It was a picture of her and Beck — a photo she might have posted on Slap page, but she can’t remember anymore, and her chest feels tight, and _where the hell did they even find it?_ It’s from freshman year — before she had dyed her hair, or had even an inkling that her mother might be unhappy in the first place. She’s grinning candidly as Beck kisses her cheek. Jade hadn’t thought about what would happen if the media got wind of her story, and she felt stupid now for not having considered the very real possibility of other’s learning about … _this ..._ he listens to a news anchor explain the story — calling her father a troubled murderer (that’s fucking generous), and relaying her relationship with _“… the victim — Beck Oliver — a junior at Hollywood Arts who already had professional credits on his resume_.” Jade’s chest feels like it was about to snap in half, her eyes prickle, her breath hitches, and … _oh god._ She only just made it to the bathroom before vomiting. She would stay with her back against the cool porcelain with her hands cradling her forehead until two nurses carefully entered the room.

One of them was the redhead — whose name Jade thought it might finally be time to remember. She came over to her, placing an arm gently across her shoulders and cradling her as she walked her back to bed, all the while whispering soother notions, and promising her that she would be ok, and _there’s that goddamn word again._ It had lost all meaning within the week. Jade saw it now for what it was — a placeholder for when there was nothing left to say.

When her friends come to visit, and they ask how she is, Jade nods and maybe smiles, and say “ok”. They didn’t believe her, and she didn’t care. Jade didn’t cry, but she almost wished she could, because her head was reeling, and it felt like she was watching the rest of the day from five feet above herself. It hurt to breath, and not just because nurse stupid-name’s prediction about the healing of her neck was accurate. It hurt to breath because she didn’t _want_ to anymore, because this existence was no longer her’s. Jade felt like a scapegoat — the face of a story that would define her forever, that she _belonged_ to, that she would never escape.

 _"Jade. Run._ ”

Nurses and doctors alike tell her that the best thing she could do for herself is sleep — that it was the only way to heal her mental and physical trauma. Jade didn’t know how to tell them that there was no solace in unconsciousness. She had been woken up twice in a fit of panic, drenched in sweat, and whimpering, and feeling utterly embarrassed. The first time was by a nurse, who offered her medication to induce sleep. The second, much to her dismay, was by Tori.

“It’s ok to grieve.” The brunette would try, offering a pathetic smile.

Jade gave her a look so sharp it could cut glass before forcing a smirk, and in her best Tori Vega impression, saying “And _you’re_ allowed to shut up!”

“ _I don’t sound like that!_ ” Tori rolled her eyes, exhaling heavily.

She would like the exchange, because it proved to her that somewhere, under all the debris and all the fallout of the last week, Jade was still in there somehwere — all jagged edges and dark humor, but more bark than bite.

They would all visit her over the span of the next few days — hell, even _Trina_ would come. The only person that didn’t was Cat, but if she’s being honest, Jade doesn’t blame her. If anything, she understood, because … because this was … _its my fault._ She thinks about her redheaded best friend almost constantly, and misses her, and _god_ just wants to see her. Cat who she had grown up with. Cat who is all smiles and positivity. Cat who knows her better than anyone else.

Cat who must _hate_ her now.

* * *

“You’re being ridiculous.” Andre quipped, his hand reaching out to grasp the wrist of the girl beside him

Cat’s brow furrowed as she shoved the arm not currently in his hand into her jean pocket. She had agreed to go to the hospital because … well … truth be told she was tired of warding off questions of why she _hadn’t_ been yet. When she saw the two police officers posted outside Jade’s door, she wished she could turn back, the fear of what she was walking into starting to take over.

“I am not!” Cat whines, her voice pitching into her soprano. “What if she’s asleep or something?”

Andre roles his eyes like they’re talking about walking into an audition for Sikowitz’s class, and _not_ what this really is. If she thinks about it hard enough, it might frustrate her — how nonchalant he’s being about this. He’s come to visit her everyday since …

“ _Miss Valentine, I’m Detective Morales_.”

She hasn’t visited her once, too afraid of what seeing her best friend (if she can still call her that) as anything other than the dark, sharp tongued girl that she’d come to know her as. She feels a little ridiculous. Actually, no … she feels absolutely idiotic, because she knows this isn’t really about her.

“Cat she needs friends right now.” Andre’s voice cuts through her thoughts like a warm knife though butter, and when she meets his eyes, there’s no animosity to be found. It’s almost shocking to see him so serious and so vulnerable, and it catches her off guard. “She needs _you_. She’s asked about you.”

A pang of guilt settles in the girl’s stomach, and she heaves a sigh before allowing Andre to guide her through the guarded door and into her room. It’s not as bad as she thought it would be, but then she doesn’t actually allow herself to look anywhere but the four corners of the room. Her eyes remain averted to the hospital bed in the center altogether.

Andre thinks Jade might combust upon seeing him drag the redhead in. Her eyes widen, and her entire body tenses, and _fuck_ he’s never seen her look so scared or so fucking confused for as long as he’s known her. He thinks maybe bringing Cat here sans warning might have been a bad idea.

Too late.

“Cat.” Jade rasps, her voice still significantly gone thanks to the bruises to her vocal cords.

Andre feels Cat flinch in his grasp upon hearing her for the first time, and … _shit_ yeah ok definitely next time warnings for both of the was gonna be necessary. The redhead’s usually large eyes start to drop at the corners as tears spring across her lash line, but she still won’t look at Jade.

Jade feels like she’s falling through the mattress when she walks in. She feels her breath drop out of her like it's being sucked through a vacuum, and her brain feels lighter and heavier at the same time. It had been a week, which is the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other since … what … second grade? Normally, she wouldn’t pay it too much mind. She’d be confused, but all things considered … Jade tucks a few pieces of hair behind her ear, suddenly incredibly aware of what she looks like.

She still hasn’t been able to convince the nurses to let her leave her room, much less find somewhere to buy makeup or a curling wand — hell she’d only _just_ been allowed to wear a pair of leggings and a t-shirt that Tori had given her on her last visit.

Jade grimaces when she remembered the way Tori had looked at her like she was _donating_ the outfit to her, like she was some goddamn charity case. She had played nice, at least by her standards, telling her that the deep green t-shirt with an illustration of a guitar was tacky, but not unbearable. She hated feeling like charity, but upon weighing her options, she hated it a whole lot less than having to wear a hospital gown.

“Hi.” Cat’s voice brings her out of memory.

It’s more of a squeak than anything — high and still slightly melodious, but it breaks a little in the back of her throat. Jade looks at her like she’s trying to speak telepathically. There’s too much earnestness behind her eyes, and it makes Andre’s skin crawl, and he feels utterly responsible. He pushes his feelings aside, rummaging through her pocket for a _Twix,_ and ripping then at the corner. Andre comes to perch on the corner of her bed (as he has grown increasingly used to over his past few visits) before offering her a piece of the bar silently. Jade doesn’t notice at first, her eyes still glued to the other girl who is standing stiffly in the center of the room.

Can doesn’t know if she looks as terrified as she feels — not because she is by any means good at hiding what she’s feeling, but more because she is so _damn scared right now_ , and she doesn’t really know why.

Jade looks like she’s been through hell, and it throws her off, because she hadn’t really through about what she would _look_ like. So when she sees the girl with her hair falling unkempt against her shoulders, and no makeup, and looking completely and utterly exhausted, and maybe even defeated, it makes Cat want to run for the door all over again.

She thinks Jade must sense her apprehension, because she roles her eyes and snatches the chocolate bar from Andre before taking a hefty bite, glaring at the redhead.

“Nice to see you too.” She grumbles between swallows, her eyes flickering to her crossed legs.

She had wanted to sound strong, and maybe even a little intimidating, but even Jade hears it as more of a whine than a real threat. It does the trick, though. Cat stumbles towards the bed for a few steps, then stops short and takes a deep breath.

“I’m glad you’re ok.” She chimes cautiously, brow furrowing when the goth laughs sarcastically in response.

“Ok.” Jade repeats, her lips pursing into a grimace. “Yeah.”

“Jade…” Andre’s tone is gentle, but cautionary as he thinks back to the first time _he’d_ come to visit her, and just how pissed off she’d gotten.

She huffs, averting her gaze and wringing her hands together. Were she not still strapped to a heart monitor and a fluids bag, she would just leave, but she _is_ so she _can’t_ and … _fuck what is she doing here?_ Cat looks at her like she’s seeing a ghost, and it the hair on the back of Jade’s neck stand up, and her spine go stiff.

“Thank you.” Jade admonishes like a child that’s been reprimanded. “It’s … good to see you.”

It _is_ good to see her, she thinks, but …

“How have you —“

“I’m fine.” She snaps before Cat can finish the sentence, not because she thinks she’ll believe her, but more because she’s tired of being asked.

The redhead nods, balling her hands into the sleeves of her cotton purple sweater and attempting a smile that comes off more as a simper. This is all so … _weird_ , she thinks. It's weird, and wrong for a million different reasons, and she _hates_ it.

Hollywood Arts had kept classes running for those who felt that they needed something to fill their time in wake of … _this. All of this_.

“ _I’m afraid I have some bad news._ ”

Cat was one of the few students who actually attended, and would even argue that it's some of the best notes she’s ever taken. The majority of the high school would not come, and she knew it had less to do with them grieving, and more to do with them _wanting_ to. Beck had never had an abundant amount of friends. He was known, sure, but that was because he was working professionally already … and dating Jade West.

“Cat?” She doesn’t realize that she’s not breathing until the girl’s rasp snaps her out of her thoughts.

The redhead’s eyes shoot up to meet her blue stare, noting the concern that’s etched across her face. Cat shakes her head, letting out a soft squeak before coming to sit in the chair closest to Jade (perching on the bed beside Andre feels … to close). She tucks her knees under her chin, pulling her arms around her legs.

“Hi.” She sing-songs, and Jade can’t help the smile that glints behind her eyes.

It’s good to see her.

“I missed you.” Jade’s voice is barely a whisper, and she curses internally when she feels tears prickling in the corners of her eyes.

She feels weak enough without crying. She knows what she looks like, she’s _always_ been hyper aware of her appearance, but that’s only heightened by having the redhead mere inches from her now. Cat looks … thin, and tired, and maybe a little bewildered, and Jade can only imagine that she matches her friend’s appearance, if not beats it.

Andre’s eyes flick between the two girls as they stare at each other in uncomfortable silence. Cat looks like she doesn’t know what the hell to say, and Jade looks like she’s got too _many_ things to say, and she doesn’t know where to start.

“Anything good on TV?” He asks when he can no longer stand the thickness of the air between them anymore, and reaches for the remote.

Jade snatches it away from him, her eyes going wide as she utters a firm “ _no_ ”. It startles all of them — even her. Her breath hitches dangerously in her throat, and she closes her eyes, inhaling and holding for a few seconds until she feels herself stable.

“I just …” She stammers, running her hands through her hair and flicking her gaze between her two perplexed friends, and _awe hell_. “I’m bored of watching _Bravo_.”

It was a feeble excuse, Jade knew that. She relaxed a little when they dropped the subject — both giving her knowing looks, but not pushing further.

“One time, my brother was on the news because he dressed up like a reindeer and tried to walk in the middle of the highway.”

They gave Cat a look, before Andre started chuckling lowly and uncertainly. Cat joined in, covering her mouth with her hands, and then … _oh woah_. _Jade_ felt a giggle lurch in her throat, and she wonders if it will hurt when it comes out, but its too late. She laughs — small, and dissonant, and a little dishonest, but it’s there. She watches the dimples in Cat’s cheeks form, and the way her eyes glint.

It feels a little bit like coming home, Cat can’t help but think, as she hears the start of Jade’s laugh forming in her throat. It’s only half noticeable when it finally comes out, but its there and that’s … more than she’d thought she could get. She’s learned how to make light of her own trepidation to break the ice amongst her friends, and she doesn’t mind it. She’s know that her family life is abnormal at the very least, and it helps her cope with anomaly that is her older brother’s presence in her life.

“Did they catch him?” Andre wipes tears from his eyes, and Jade’s not sure if its from humor or because he can’t help it.

Cat shakes her head, a smile still tugging at her lips. “They had to chase him without cars. Henry’s fast.”

Jade watches the scene like its a movie, her lips parted, and her eyes wide with a sort of marvel that neither of her friends recognized.

“How _is_ Henry?” She asks, and it’s so genuine that it sounds jarring coming from her.

Cat shrugs, giving some vague response about how he’s … ‘ _you know’,_ before they go silent. It’s the first semblance of normalcy Jade has had since …

The first conversation that hasn’t revolved around _her_ , or how she’s doing, or if she _needs_ anything. Jade leans so that the small of her back is against her pillow, and her head hits the coolness of the wall. She promises herself that this is fleeting — that this feeling of safety and normalcy is _not_ going to last.


End file.
